The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(15)

Reinhart listened until Lady Dorothea’s footsteps could no longer be heard, then walked to Jorgen’s desk. “May I?”

Jorgen handed him the paper he had been writing on.

He read Lady Dorothea’s answers. He had not quite believed his own ears, but here it was from Jorgen’s pen. Her very answers as he had heard them.

She did not like to dance. She did not—and would not—hunt. She liked to write tales—romances. And . . . here it was. “A margrave’s wife should have lots of ideas—and should share those ideas with her husband and other prominent men of the region. She should tell the margrave how to solve the problems of her region.”

Odette swept into the room, her eyes wide open, looking like she was bursting to speak.

“What did you think of her, Frau Hartman?” He might as well hear her opinion.

She smiled. “She certainly did not make all the usual replies, did she?”

“I am sure you liked her comments about helping the poor among her people.”

“Yes, my lord.” Odette’s smile grew wider. “And then she held up Lady Magdalen as the example.” She shook her head, a disbelieving look on her face.

This whole business of choosing a wife had made him uncomfortable, including the way he had ultimately decided to go about it. He had been looking at each lady in a rational way, basing his opinion of each of them on facts, weighing each word they had spoken to decide whether they would make him a compatible wife. But with Lady Dorothea . . . Several of the ladies had been fair of face and form. None of that had swayed his intellectual approach. Lady Dorothea’s opinionated answers had been exactly what he did not like, and yet . . . he had felt his usual rationality slipping from his grasp. He had felt drawn to her in a most irrational way.

Odette was still smiling. “I liked what she said about love too. Something about a woman wishing to be loved and wooed for herself and not her wealth. That was beautiful. And so true.”

Yes, that was the part Reinhart had wanted to read again, to show himself how unreasonable and foolish it had been. Swept up by a man’s fervent feelings for her. Irrational. Doesn’t wish to be married for her money or alliances or her noble birth or because she is a sensible choice. Nonsensical. So why did he feel his breath quicken, remembering it? She wants to be wooed, even after she is married, to be cherished and loved for her very self. His heart thumped hard against his chest at the honest sentiments. What did she think of him? Did she scorn his limp as much as he hated it himself?

“I admire that she feels so strongly about love, and that she was brave enough to say it.” Odette and Jorgen were gazing at each other.

“Yes,” Jorgen replied, “she has spirit and an air of innocence and honesty. And she was not as stiff and formal as the other ladies, although she did seem nervous.”

“True.” Odette turned to Reinhart. “What did you think of her, my lord, if I may ask?”

“I cannot say she has passed the first test.” After all, he had wanted someone who knew her place as a woman and a wife, who would not be opinionated.

“Are you saying you did not like her?” Jorgen looked surprised.

He grunted. “This is not meant to be a sentimental process.”

After a pause Odette said, “I have not yet given Lady Dorothea a tour of Thornbeck Castle. Will you come with us? Say polite things, ask her about herself, maybe offer her a book from your library since she likes to read?”

“Of course, my lord. I think it is a very good idea,” Jorgen said, a bit too eagerly.

“And don’t snarl at her if she asks you about your injury, the way you did to poor Lady Beatrix.”

Reinhart glared at Odette and resisted the urge to growl.

Had his chancellor and his wife become enchanted by Lady Dorothea? He was not enchanted. He only wanted to delve deeper into her temperament. In truth, she was the only lady whose answers had piqued his curiosity. But she was not at all what he had thought he wanted—a docile, quiet, simple maiden.

Besides, he only had two weeks to mine the jewels—or rocks, as the case might be—of each woman’s character; two weeks to choose who he would take as his wife; two weeks to find the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.





6



“OH, IRMA, IT was terrible.” Avelina covered her eyes with her hands. “I babbled on and sounded ridiculous. I don’t even remember half of what I said, but what I do remember . . . it didn’t sound anything like what Lady Dorothea would have said.”

Irma sighed as she reclined on her sleeping couch, eating pastries from a plate she was balancing with one hand. “What does it matter?” She took another bite, then spoke through the crumbs that blew from her lips. “No one here knows Lady Dorothea, and after we leave, no one will be the wiser.”

“I still have to get through the next two weeks. I feel so out of place. I don’t know what to do or what to say or how to behave. I was never taught to be an earl’s daughter. I feel every moment as if someone is going to accuse me of being an imposter—which I am.”

Never before had she been treated like her opinion mattered. If only she could enjoy it without feeling like someone was going to brand her a fraud and order her to leave at once.

But in her heart she truly believed she was a better lady than Lady Dorothea ever was. Was it wrong to think she was nobler in her heart than the true nobleman’s daughter? If only she had been born the daughter of an earl instead of Dorothea. If only she had not been born to a poor man who himself was only a servant.